Almost Lover
by sandy2x400
Summary: "…Grey was heading to the studio when a paparazzo's car banged into his side. Grey tried to steady the car, but it flip over easily and fell off the Highland bridge. He was reported dead at the scene…" Smitchie.


_To my almost lover. I actually do very much love you._

_--_

"**I'm trying not to think about you. Can't you just let me be?" Almost Lover - A Fine Frenzy**

Almost Lover

A One Shot

You heard the news probably an hour after it happened. You were rushing out of the concert hall, completely hyped up from the performance you just gave.

It was such a great night. You had your mother and father, your brother, some of your friends, and all your fans in the audience. Tonight was about you.

And then it became about them.

The television was turned on because one of your crew members forgot to turn it off. You didn't mind; you were still completely blown away at the amount of people that were chanting your name. Actually, if Grant had not said something about the television being on, you would not have even noticed it playing.

The TV was on mute, but you knew what the reporter was talking about – them - at least as the pictures told. Your eyes darkened and a fire went through you, completely burning your happiness away. Grant saw your reaction and rushed to turn off the TV, but then, the bottom lettering caught your eye.

_1992 – 2009 _

"Turn up the volume!" you screamed by mistake, but you don't even notice the tremor in your voice. Your eyes are glued to the screen, widening in horrible. Grant lowers his eyebrows at you and nods, before doing it.

"…_Grey was heading to the studio when a paparazzo's car banged into his side. Grey tried to steady the car, but it flip over easily and fell off the Highland bridge. He was reported dead at the scene…"_

There was more said – something about how parents should deal with this and explain to their children, but you hardly hear it. A bomb could have gone off next to you and you would not have noticed. Your heart seemed to stop beating. It was like you forgot how to breathe.

There was only silence throughout the entire room. Everyone stood frozen watching the damn television screen. You fell back against the wall, feeling something go through you that you have never felt before. It was like your heart turned fifteen sizes too small but it's still trying to pump blood.

You could feel people touching you – asking you if you were okay – but it's like they were in another world.

Your eyes search the screen wildly as photo after photo is shown, highlighting his amazing days. The Grammy's. Hannah's Best of Both Worlds Tour. Their first tour. Their second tour. Their last tour. Pictures with Hannah. Pictures with Mikayla. Pictures with his brothers.

Pictures with you.

--

You went to the funeral of course, but you ignored everyone and everyone ignored you. You did not know what to say. Hannah was crying - hysterical even. Denise was crying. Everyone was crying. Every girl in the whole fucking world was probably crying. You just did not know what to say.

So you said nothing.

You prayed and you cried and left without saying a single word to anyone.

--

Life is hard to get back to after a Hollywood tragedy – especially when it is the death of someone so young, so talented. Everywhere you went you heard the sighs and saw the teary eyes. Everyone asked how you are dealing with it.

As one of the members of the ex-girlfriend club, you were demanded an answer by everyone. "It's…" you always start, but never finish.

But life goes on – except it really does not. The next week is brutal for you, and you are not even in his immediate family and friends. Everyone is crying.

You go back five days after he died, two days after the funeral, to do your job. You perform in front of thousands, all upset, all angry, all confused. You almost cry many times that night, but the fans are used to you. You are known for your emotions, after all.

But this time, the tears are real.

You sing your songs, but you dot sing _his_ song. He's going through a lot without having to worry about his ex-girlfriend bagging at him in her concert. He just lost his little brother, after all. The fans are disappointed in you, but some understand.

You feel bad for those few who are fans of you and of him. It must have been hard choosing who was telling the truth and who was lying. It must have been hard knowing that either way one of your heroes is a fake. Either way, one of them is a failure and a liar.

--

Six days after he died, three days after the funeral, and you have to do another show. You hear random gossip that they are taking his death badly, but for once, you ignore all gossip that has to do with them. They deserve more than what they are getting.

You don't sing his song that night either.

--

A whole week after he died and four days after the funeral, you have a day off. It is nice and you spend most of the day in bed watching movies. Caitlyn calls and suddenly she makes a joke.

You laugh.

Immediately, you stop. Guilt overtakes you to the point where you basically hang up on Caitlyn. You turn off the television after that and focus on the quiet. You want to write a song, but you feel too disconnected from their family to do so.

Instead, you travel downstairs to the lobby, feeling the air for awhile. And then night falls, and you're back on the road again. The tour bus is slow and it feels like it going to take forever until you get to where you going. Is it Orlando or San Diego today?

--

It is eight days after he died and five days after the funeral. You are about to play a show in San Francisco as told by Grant, and Ali stops you. She tells you people are getting upset you're not singing the song.

You tell her to can it.

You go to your dressing room to change into your first costume and freeze. There, leaning against the wall, is your ex-lover. He is just standing there, not even moving, hardly breathing, yet you can feel the storm inside from over here.

His eyes are bloodshot red, like he has either been crying or drinking or, considering his smell, both. He has not shaven in days, probably, you figure since the accident. His hair is a mess and his clothes are wrinkled and dirty.

And yet, he is still the most attractive boy you have ever seen.

He hears you come in, but does not really react. Swallowing, you move in a little more, and he turns him head to you slightly. He is staring at you, but he is looking past you – as if you were a ghost. You don't know what to say, and he doesn't say anything either.

So there is silence.

You walk in and close the door, before walking slowly to the portable closet. You walk in like he is not there, like if you didn't see him, but your hair is on end and your heart is beating fast. You don't know if he can tell because you're not looking at him.

Suddenly, the door opens to reveal an apologetic Ali, who doesn't see him right away. You turn around and listen to her apologies, but your eyes are really focused on him. No emotion is on his face; his eyes are staring at the same spot that you left him.

Ali stops in midsentence, finally noticing him. She pales, before snapping her head at you and mouthing if you want her to get security.

You shake your head no.

Pretty soon, she leaves and you are left with him again by yourself. Taking the costume, you turn around and put it on the table besides the door. You go to him, still not looking at him, and stand a good distance from him. "Lay down on the couch. I'll be done with the show soon. Wait for me here." You tell him.

He nods, his eyes still on the same spot.

--

You are sweaty and disgusting when you come back, but you skip your customary immediate shower. The entire concert you might have been on stage, but your mind and maybe even your heart was in your dressing room.

And you are really hoping it was still there.

You practically run to the room, still hyped up and crazed from the encore, but he's still there. He is laying down on the couch- his back to you, leaning against the arm - but you can tell his eyes are still open. Dust floats around him softly and you make noise coming in, but he doesn't even blink.

He looks dead.

"Hey, Mitch, let's go to that restaurant we saw coming up. We're all starving." Grant says, tapping your shoulder. You look at him, and immediately, he realizes something's wrong. He looks behind you and sees him. "The asshole's back." He states quietly, his eyes angry and bitter.

You don't answer, and Grant doesn't say anything else either. He sighs and gives you a hard look, before looking at the still laying down boy. You walk past Grant and close the door.

He still does not look at you.

You run a hand through your crazy hair before turning to him. "C'mon, Shane." You whisper, putting an arm on his bicep. He doesn't look at you when he nods, but he lets you help him up. His eyes hold absolutely no emotion as you two walk to the door. "Do you have your car?" you say softly, and he nods again.

He wordlessly reaches into his pocket and gives you his keys. You bite your lip, tears rushing to your eyes. You feel so bad, you are practically shaking. You stay frozen, until he looks up at you, confused that you are not moving. He looks so lost and gone, that you have to move.

You don't want this.

You never wanted this. Sure, he hurt you. He publically humiliated you. But, you would never wish this upon anyone. Not even your cheating ex. He walks softly with you through the venue. Everyone on the crew looks at you either sympathetically or confusedly. You wave slightly to Ali and Grant, who give you that look again.

You ignore it.

"Where's your car?" you ask him gently, and he lifts his head by a centimeter before nodding towards the back. You nod, and go that way. When you get to the glass door, you hold it open for him but he never goes through.

You look at him confused, coming back inside the building. He looks up again, but it's like he's not there. It's like his soul is gone. "I don't wanna be photographed." He confesses, his voice cracking and hoarse as if he hasn't used it in forever.

You feel a sharp pain, and hurt washes over you. You just stare at him, but he all he does is look away from you again. "I'll bring the car around then." You say coldly, not even looking at him as you leave the building.

--

You don't even want to look at him, but you cannot deny his presence all over you. He sits in the passenger's seat quietly, as you try to work his huge car. You can feel tears rushing to your eyes as you manage to change gears.

The car smells just like _her_.

You take a deep breath, taking in all the fruity scent with you, before pulling out of the parking lot. A litter of multicolored hair ties on the dashboard catch your eye, before you notice a Cosmo magazine in between you and him. "Where's Emilia, Shane?" you ask, your voice suddenly hoarse.

You see him tense next to you, but he ignores your question. Instead, he looks out the window, his teeth nipping at his bottom lip. You sigh and focus on driving, turning on the wipers as rain begins to pour.

You shuffle nervously, breathing in deeply again only to have _her_ perfume invade your senses again. The silence is getting to you so much so that you are wringing your hands. You eventually turn on the radio just to have something take over the smell.

The noise fills the large car awkwardly, making you jump. He finally stops looking out the window to look at you for a second. You freeze as his eyes burn a hole through you, but you do not give in and you do not look at him.

Instead, you focus on the road again. He finally looks away from you, only to look around aimlessly inside the car. When he talks, his voice is still hoarse and rough, but you hear every word.

"I broke up with her."

--

As you get to your hotel room, you walk slowly with him. He almost falls forward at one point, so your arm involuntarily goes straight for his waist. The skin that is not covered by his shirt is extremely hot when you dig your fingers in to help him.

He tenses and so do you; you immediately try to remove your hand, but suddenly he is leaning into your body. You try not to gasp as he drops his head on your shoulder, his hand going to your hip. You wince as he squeezes your body, his fingernails digging roughly into your skin.

For a second, you do not know what to do. He isn't crying or even really hugging you; he is just leaning against your body. You step in a little and he breathes out softly, tingling your neck. You wrap your arm slowly around his small waist, your own head nesting in the nook of his neck.

Suddenly, you are in an embrace with your ex. And you still do not know what to do.

--

He stands at the doorway after you went through. It unnerves you – he is just standing there. He's not looking at anything or even breathing as far as you can tell. You try to get his attention, but he relatively ignores you. His eyes look past you again, and if you didn't know better, you would think he is on drugs.

"Have you been drinking Shane?" you ask quietly, looking straight at him. His eyes flicker slightly, but he doesn't answer you. You sigh again, rubbing your arm awkwardly. You go to him, taking slow steady steps so that you do not catch him off guard too much. "Come here." You say softly, reaching your arm out.

He does not reciprocate your touch but he does move forward. Gently, you take his lower arm and lead him into the bathroom. "Wash your face, Shane." You say, as you get in front of the sink. You do not even glance at the mirror, just in case you are worst than him. He hesitates and for a second, as you turn around and grab the small hand towel, you think he is not going to.

Tentatively, he reaches over and turns on the faucet before bring his face down a little. He splashes the water on his face a bit harshly, before rubbing his eyes hurtfully. You immediately reach up and stop him, afraid he's is going to dislocate his eyes.

The second you touch him, he jerks away.

Another pain shoots through you. No matter what, you are still the ex-girlfriend he fell out of love with. You are still the girl he thought was not worth a damn. You are still the girl that publically called him out for being a jerk. You are still the girl that hates him, and you are still the girl he hates.

So why did he come to you tonight?

"Why did you break up with Emilia, Shane? I thought she was the one." You say to him, as he drops the towel on the counter. He tenses and you immediately know that was the wrong thing to say. For the first time all night, his eyes actually flicker with a pure emotion – anger.

"I don't want to talk about her, Mitchie." He says, his voice low but very clear. It's the first time he has said your name all night, and you feel like scratching his eyes out. You take a step back and look to the floor.

You may come off as bold and as a fighter, but when it comes to him? You are the quietest person alive. You can sing a mean, angry song from the comfort of your stage, but put him in front of you and you clam up. You cannot even manage to say something right.

"I just wanted to…" you trail off, because in all honesty, you have no idea what to say. He pushes off the sink roughly, knocking things to the floor.

"You wanted to pry, Mitchie! Why aren't I with her? Because I can't _fucking_ stand to look at her!" he yells, making the whole room vibrate. You freeze, a shiver going through your body. Sure, he is not as innocent as Disney portrays him to be, but that does not change the way he was raised.

He hardly ever curses in front of girls – his father would never hear of it.

You do not say anything as he kicks the garbage can and as his hands go straight to his curly hair. He pulls at the strands and does not move for a couple seconds. You do not know whether to leave the room or go towards him, but suddenly, he is leaning against the door.

You watch as he slides down slowly, his hands still dug deep into his hair. He looks like he wants to cry, but he just sits there. You can feel words forming at that tip of your tongue, begging him to say anything to you; instead, you push your outrageous, still sweaty hair behind your ear. "Shane." You say, and you wince when it sounds more like a question.

He does not say anything again, but rather just groans and looks up at you. As soon as he does, your heart literally breaks. Your eyes grow wide as he stares straight into them. His usually very light eyes are so heavy with tears and pain that it makes you realize any pain you have ever felt in your life is nothing compared to what he is feeling right now.

"Oh, Shane." You mumble under your breath, leaning against the counter. He immediately looks away from you, and you finally see that his eyes are brimming with tears. You do not know what to do. You really just have no idea. "I'm sorry." You whisper softly.

The minute you say it, he looks up. His eyes are ablaze again. "You're sorry!" he roars, his dark hair falling in front of his eyes. "You're sorry, Mitchie? Huh?" his tone is still loud, but now heavy with tears. They still haven't fallen, but they are there. "With that stunt you pulled, I lost so many fans! Some people hate me!" his voice vibrates through the room again.

You stay completely still, flinching every time his voice got louder. Suddenly, he is at his feet, still looking so lost and broken and completely angry. He hits the door roughly, making you gasp. "They all hate me because I apparently never called you, Mitchie!" he says, his eyes so bright with tears, you are surprised they aren't falling down his face. "I tried, Mitchie! You know that." His voice breaks, and suddenly he cannot take it anymore.

He leans against the counter, his hands in his hair again. "You know something, Mitchie?" he says under his breath, his voice hoarse again. He looks at you with piercing eyes. "I hate you." he whispers, before looking away again. Suddenly, he is breathing in a sob.

--

He gets out of the bathroom quickly, not even looking at you. For a while, you just stand in the same place, before eventually moving your heavy feet towards the fallen things he knocked to the floor. You pick them up wordlessly and put them back on the counter, before going back out.

You don't know whether to wish that he left or that he is still there.

He is leaning against the wall, breathing harshly and unevenly. He looks at you, and any anger you had disappears. "Why Nate? He didn't deserve that. Not my baby brother." He says, his voice cracking, as a tear finally falls down. "Not my baby brother." He repeats, his voice completely catching.

Tears gather in your own eyes as you step forward. He closes his eyes, his hand curling around the counter as you move towards him. You hesitantly put a hand on his back, but he does not move. Instead, he breaks down.

You try to catch him as his legs fail him, but it just ends up being a mass of limbs. You groan softly as his body practically falls on top of you, but he doesn't get off you. Instead, he rests his head on your breasts, crying darkly.

You freeze as he presses up against you, wondering if he knows where in fact he is pressing up against. You try to embrace him, putting your fingers through his messy hair, as your legs start to fall asleep from his weight. "My baby brother." He keeps muttering. You press your lips to his forehead, as his hand goes down to your waist.

You wince again, as he squeezes the hell out of your skin in between his strong hand that will surely leave a bruise tomorrow. His nails are digging so deeply into your skin you are certain there will be half-moon crescents marks for a while.

He opens his mouth – to breathe, in you guess – against your skin, his salvia wetting the place right above the swelling of your breast. It makes you shiver again, and you don't know if he realizes where he is touching your or he just needs more contact with you, but he lifts himself up so that his head is on your shoulder.

You pull him close to you, his fingers still digging painfully into your already bruising skin, and he cries harder. "Not Nate. Not him." He chokes, coughing lightly against your ear. "Not my baby brother." He says, before launching into another sob.

Putting your head on the nook of his neck, tears fall down your face slowly. You really have no idea what to do. "I'm sorry, Shane. I'm just so sorry." You try to say, but your voice is just thick with emotions. "He didn't deserve that." You agree, before kissing the side of his head soothingly. You run yours hands through his hair, as he hiccups softly.

He suddenly pulls away from you, his eyes looking past you. His cheeks are patched with red and his eyes are still wet. "It should have been me." He whispers, before his eyes close again. Tears run down his face, rounding off at his chin. You raise your hand and brush some away, surprised at the wetness of his face.

"It's not your fault, Shane." You try to tell him, but he shakes his head angrily. He gets up roughly, pushing your legs aside hurtfully. You gasp as your fingers immediately go to your already reddening legs, before looking at to the now pacing boy.

He is pulling at his hair again. "I told him to go to the store, because I wanted to stay in with Emilia." He say, his voice cracking. You freeze as hurt goes through your body at the sound of her name. "I was being selfish and stupid. If I had just gone…" he trails off, his voice catching. "Then he would still be alive." He finishes in a whisper, before looking at you with dead eyes.

Your heart stops as he just stands there. Suddenly, he grabs the drawer of the hotel's dresser and rips it out violently, making you gasp loudly. He grabs everything he possibly can get a hold of and throws it. You shuffle, pulling your knees to your chest as you watch him wide eyed with complete shock.

You watch him as he suddenly pauses destroying your room, and you realize he caught site of himself in the mirror. He breathes out roughly, before rolling his hand into a fist and punching it.

--

You gasp loudly as shards of glass cut into your skin, and you duck your head so you don't get even more hurt. He hisses loudly, grabbing his hand with his other painfully. You look up hesitantly, only to see his dark red blood drip from fingers. "Oh, Shane." You swallow a sob, looking at him with such sadness.

He just stands there, letting go of his hand like he doesn't even care anymore. "Not Nate." He whispers, tears falling faster. You close your eyes tightly as he starts practically screaming. He bends his knees, falling to the floor, crying into his hands. "I cannot fucking believe this." He says shakily. You wince at the curse again.

You take off the shards that have hit your arm, swallowing painfully at your own blood that has popped up. You ignore the pain and go to him, but then stop. What are you supposed to do? What can you do? "Shane, you should be with your family." You say, but it sounds fake even to your ears.

You just don't know what to say.

He ignores you.

"Come on, let's go to the hospital." You say with resignation, afraid for his hand. He looks up and sighs softly, before letting you help him up for what you know will be hours of waiting.

--

Nine days after he has died and six days after the funeral, Denise calls his cell phone.

And he doesn't pick up.

"Shane." You say, almost as if you are trying to wake him up. He just turns off his phone.

"It's okay if I travel with you for a couple days, right?" he asks, as he picks at the bandage that the nurse put on him. You nod tiredly. You should have been sleeping for the past five hours, but now in the early hours of the morning, what can you do? You will just have to sleep in the bus.

And explain to the crew that you will have an extra for a while.

"Thanks." He says, nodding while looking down. His eyes are still bloodshot as you start his car. You start driving back to your hotel, wiping the back of your hand against your tired eyes. He breathes out a ragged breath. "Sorry I broke down." He says, squirming slightly.

You nod and then shrug, not looking at him as you try to blink away the blurriness.

He swallows and puts his head back, closing his eyes. You drive in silence, so you know almost immediately when he starts crying again. He has his hand on the window as he sobs. They get louder and louder as the time goes on, and you can feel your own eyes fill with tears. "It's going to be okay." You whisper because you don't know what else to say.

He snorts. "Of course it will."

--

Thirteen days after he has died and ten days after the funeral, Shane crawls into your bunk.

You look up surprised, as he usually ignores you. He hasn't said more than two words since that night he came. He just sits in the bunk you provided him and stares out the window, as his mother calls and calls. Grant and Ali look at you confused, but you don't say a word. You don't blame him for not talking.

You haven't spoken very much in the last few days either.

"Shane, what are you doing?" you ask hoarsely, awaken rudely. He doesn't answer you. He just grabs your waist harshly, as he settles his head on your shoulders. You feel like someone pours the iciest, coldest liquid down your throat as he starts to cry. His fingers dig into your skin as he pulls you to him. You pull him towards you, afraid he will fall off the edge of the bunk. He fights with you, before pushing you up against the bus wall.

He climbs on top of you, his head never leaving the nook of your neck. You gasp as he swings one of his legs around your body, his own coming up for a few seconds. Until, he leaned back down, his hands going to your hair to squeeze the strands. You gasp loudly as all the breath from your body leaves you as he practically dies on top of you.

He cries in your neck, his sobs loud in your ears as he pushes his body down on yours. "Oh, Mitchie." He moans, his wet lips touching your sensitive skin. Your heart breaks as his hands start wandering. He is grinding his body against yours roughly, squeezing your body like you were worthless. His lips are everywhere. His breath is loud. He knows all your crew is off partying, and you volunteered to stay and watch over him. He knows you are alone.

He starts taking off your clothes, his purity ring snagging yours as he laces your fingers together.

You don't know how to stop him, so you don't.

--

It's twenty days after his death and seventeen days after his funeral that Jason comes.

"How did you find me?" is all he says, his eyes back to being dead. His older brother just sighs before flashing to you. Uncomfortably, you look down, a light blush going to your face.

"Oh I don't know. It may have something to do with the fact you are touring around with your ex girlfriend, a.k.a one of the most famous singers in the world." Jason brings out icily. You look up surprised until you remember. He lost a brother too. He sighs. "Jesus, Shane. Because Mom doesn't have enough to deal with." He says, shaking his head.

You see Shane's eyes flash with anger so you go in front of him, your arm holding him back. Jason's eyes widen in surprise. "I'll keep him out of trouble. He hasn't been drinking since he got under my care. He wakes up on time. He helps the crew set up. I'm keeping an eye on him." You say, swallowing.

It's so hard to keep eye contact with him.

Jason just closes his eyes, sighing. "Oh, Mitchie." He mutters, shaking his head.

--

Shane comes into your dressing room later that day as you read the stuff your PR sent you. "What are they saying?" he asks, his voice rough as he goes to the couch in the center of the room.

You wipe your eyes as you kick the chair near you. You are sitting on top of your makeup table as you read line after horrible line. "People aren't understanding why I would… they don't like us together… fans are calling me a hypocrite…" Every sentence fades before you can finish it.

He presses his lips together before sighing softly. He brings his hand out towards you. "Come here." He whispers tenderly.

He knows he's hurting you.

He knows you don't really care.

--

His lips are so soft on your skin. His hands are never as rough one you as they are that first night, bit caring and gentle. It makes you cry. He doesn't really love you. He isn't really making love to you. He's just trying to get love from a girl who was so desperately in love with him at one point.

You break down in his arms. Your chest starts shaking. Your hands start squeezing air. You eyes start filling with tears. You can't breathe.

You are practically screaming as he crushes you to his chest. His lips kiss you frantically.

But he starts crying as well.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." He keeps whispering. "I thought she was… I thought she was better."

He surprises you with that admission and you cry harder. He rubs your naked back as he pushes you near him, closer than ever. "Shane." You cough out.

"It's okay. Everything will be okay." He whispers the words you told him so long ago.

Except, everything is so far from okay.

--

A month after his death and twenty eight days after the funeral, you finish your tour.

He breaks down in your bunk that last night. "I don't want to go back to California. I don't want to face them." He cries. He shakes as you hold him close to your chest. "I don't want to see the fans or my family or Emilia or anyone. I just want to hide." The tears that come to your eyes blur your vision. You feel so bad and lost and hurt.

You don't know what to say.

"I know." You whisper, digging your hair through his hair. "But they will support you. They love you, Shane. You are a good person." Because he is. When he was nineteen he cheated on you, but he was just a kid. He has proven himself in different ways how amazing he is.

It's why you were so hurt.

Because he was amazing and he wasn't yours anymore. But it doesn't stop you from loving him.

But now - now are you his again? Or are you just a way for him to get better?

--

When you get back to California, he squeezes your hand before going back to his home.

--

A month and twelve days after he died and a month and seventeen days after the funeral, he contacts you again.

"Thank you for being there." He say awkwardly. You swallow but don't say much over the phone. He clears his throat. "But I miss you. And I want you to be here some more. Can you do that for me, Mitchie?" his voice is high pitched. He's about to cry.

You sigh and clear your throat. "I'm always here for you." You whisper, before biting your lip. "Come over my house. We'll watch a movie?' you suggest, because you don't know what else to say. He forces a laugh, but the closest to a laugh he has gotten out in amore than a month.

"Can we just sleep instead? I haven't slept well since the bus." He admits sheepishly.

You shake your head. "Of course we can, Shane."

When he gets there, he's shoulders lower in relief as he takes a deep breath in. He brings you close to his chest, holding you tightly. He kisses the top of your head before letting you lead him upstairs. "I'm sorry I haven't called. My parents haven't let me out of their sites forever. I finally told them I just needed you." He says quietly, not looking at you.

You turn to him, crossing your arms. "What about Emilia?" you ask, hating yourself for it. He winces slightly.

"I can't stand to look at her, remember?" he says, pushing past her to go to your room. You swallow, closing your eyes for a moment before following him. He lays down in your bed, digging his head into your pillow before looking up at you. He slowly raises his hand up towards you. It takes you a second but you finally go over to him, snuggling into his chest.

Surprisingly, his fingers stay on your waist and go nowhere else.

--

Six months after he died or after his funeral, (you cannot even remember anymore), Shane smiles at you.

Your heart breaks and you almost start crying, but you compose yourself and smile back at him.

--

A year after he died and his funeral, Shane laughs.

--

A year and a half after he died and after his funeral, Shane kisses you in public before holding your hand.

That day, he picks up his guitar and plays a song.

It's sad and angry, but it's better than nothing.

--

Two years after he died and after his funeral, Shane begins to forgive himself for the death of his little brother.

**XXX**

**I was sad. **


End file.
